


Vermeadow's Difficult Decision

by piggypeach_xx



Series: World of Warcraft RP Scenes/One-Shots [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: One-Shot, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggypeach_xx/pseuds/piggypeach_xx
Summary: As a severely arcane-addicted Vermeadow gives birth alone in Crystalsong, she has to make the hard choice of who to give her newborn son to, so that he can live the best life possible.





	Vermeadow's Difficult Decision

**Author's Note:**

> {This scene takes place somewhere between Legion and BFA, where the war has ceased and everyone returns to their families.}

In all her years, and there were at least a millennia of them, Vermeadow had never felt so much pain as she did when she pushed that little half-elf into the world. Tiny, screaming, and writhing; he was slimy and red, and covered in tears, snot and blood. More than anything, though, Vermeadow could smell the arcane coursing through his veins.

She birthed him alone, in a pool of rainwater-diluted arcane. The volatile, magical liquid cleansed the baby of his filth, and at last, Vermeadow was able to pick him up without feeling completely disgusted. She held him out in front of her, one hand supporting his neck and the other is rump, and she stared at him. The little tuft of hair that rested on his head was black as the night itself. His ears were about half the size of her own; pointed, but still short. And his eyes glowed brightly with magic. Vermeadow was very aware of how much arcane she had taken in during her pregnancy. Perhaps it had been far too much, according to some doctors, but the writhing, squirming child in her hands didn't seem all the worse for wear. He sniffled and snorted, his tiny hands outstretched and clasping at nothing. She stared at him blankly, feeling almost nothing for him. Nothing but regret and frustration. Her chest filled and collapsed hundreds of times before she was able to calm herself down from the strain of birth. It had truly been a wonder that she'd even made it out alive...that he had. Her legs and back ached so terribly, but being surrounded by the magic she'd become so addicted to definitely helped her along. 

All at once, the baby began to fuss and cry, his loud voice lifted high for all those around to hear--not that there were many who cared in Crystalsong Forest. Vermeadow clenched her jaw and drew the child to her chest, allowing him to latch and suckle on her breast. He did so after a few tries, settling down and drinking away. Vermeadow was grateful.

Glancing down at the child's stomach, she noticed the cord that once connected them together was still attached. She had birthed its remains already, as it laid to rot away on the ground beside her. Infusing one single finger with magic, she sliced the cord off just above the baby's stomach, gasping as it began to bleed. Discarding the remaining cord, she pinched the bleeding wound shut and held it there, relaxing once more as the bleeding had been stopped.

Her eyes travelled back to her son, who was still gulping away at her breast. Their eyes met, and for just a moment, she felt the tiniest burn in her heart. The corners of her mouth twitched, and just as she began to feel like she might be able to keep him, after all--

"Ouch! Shit!" Vermeadow winced and jumped as a pair of sharp fangs punctured her nipple rather painfully, and she pulled away from the baby, sending him a glare. "You already have teeth?!"

The baby whimpered as his food source had been revoked, but didn't seem too bothered as he instead snuggled against her ribs, his eyes growing heavy and falling shut. Perhaps he'd already had his fill, Vermeadow decided. A sigh left her as she watched him sleep, and she laid there, covered in blood, water-arcane, and her shredded clothes, wondering what the hell she was going to do next. 

"Lennia. I know it's been quite a long time since we've seen each other. Probably about...well...a few thousand years at least. But...well, I need your help. I kind of...need you to take this child."

Wide, glowing eyes peered up at the Quel'dorei as she trodded along through the forest, muttering madly to herself as she attempted to come up with an explanation for her sister...a good enough reason for her to take her son. The child in question had been wrapped in an old robe and strapped to the woman's chest, which cleared the use of her hands in case of danger, leaving her easily able to cast if needed. He cooed and gurgled at her occasionally, as if trying to offer his input. She ignored him.

"I just can't raise him by myself, you know? I wasn't made for that sort of thing. It's not really in my nature." She nodded to herself; it made perfect sense. "But you--you were always taking care of animals and things. You know, doing all that weird druid shit. You certainly know a lot more than I do about this...that's why I think you should take him! A-at least that way, he'll have a chance at a good life. Right?" 

She couldn't help but glance down at the baby now, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. No, perhaps she did not love him as she should, but she did care whether he lived or died. She did care about what sort of life he would live; who he would grow up around. If there was anything she cared about when it came to him, it was making sure he would never meet his father. He had no idea who Sællennià was, or even that she was Vermeadow's sister. The safest place her son could be left was with his aunt, and Vermeadow knew this well. 

A frown tugged at her lips as she slowed to a stop, unable to tear her gaze from her son. She couldn't help but want to cry as his crystalline eyes locked with her own; wide and blinking, and so terribly innocent.

"I will not lie to you and say your existence is not a mistake," she muttered to him. "But I will tell you this: you are not unwanted. Not entirely." 

The infant nuzzled her chest and shut his eyes. Seeing this, her hand slowly lifted to him, until it rested upon his back. It was foreign to her, but she felt a warmth in her heart as she touched her baby. It was right. So, slow, gentle pats were given as she carried on. 

"I am not fit to be your mother, or anyone's mother. I never wanted this. But you are small and helpless, and you know nothing of this world. Someone has to take care of you. And if it can't be me, then it has to be Sael--"

"Intruder!"

"Enemy approaching!"

"You there! Leave at once lest you be taken down by the might of the Alliance!"

Vermeadow's eyes widened as she heard those fervent cries ring through the trees. She spun in a fast circle, surveying the area in which she found herself--it was a clearing, and just ahead was what looked to be an Alliance camp. A jolt of realization ran through her--she'd made it from Stranglethorn to the Elwynn Forest in almost a day. But more importantly, there were Alliance guards rushing at her with shields and spears raised and voices loud. Her face darkened and she cast an arcane ward around herself and her son, standing at the ready. However, she did not lift her hand to attack, and instead raised her own voice at them:

"I have come to do no harm! I am here to find someone!"

The soldiers slowed their pace as she said this, and the ones in front noticed the child on her chest--and immediately their arms flew out to halt those behind them. 

"She has a child," they murmured. "We can't attack her."

Vermeadow waited a few moments, relieved that they seemed to have decided against an attack, for the moment. "Please, I need to find someone. It's important."

One man in the front, bearing a bushy, tangled mustache and equally frizzled, curly hair atop his head that stuck out in strands from his metal helmet, grunted and huffed at her. His armor was slightly different in color from the rest, and Vermeadow wondered if he was in charge.

"And just why would you set foot on Alliance territory when there are other means of communication--messenger animals and scrying orbs, and other such magical nonsense, Mage?" He practically shouted at the elf, his accent thick and heavy--especially in the consonants, which seemed to slur together from their weight.

It took Vermeadow several seconds to decipher what he had said, and to formulate an answer of her own. She stared coldly at him, her hand still placed firmly upon the child's back. "She is my sister," she finally replied. "And I must meet her in person. I have...something I must give to her. Something that cannot simply be teleported." She glanced momentarily at her son. "It's much too fragile."

"Your sister?!" the scruffy, heavy-lipped man shrieked. "And just why in Light's name would the likes of you be found here?! Your family has no place in the Alliance! Begone, liar!"

"She is a Kaldorei," Vermeadow snapped at him, his words having struck a nerve. "A Night Elf of the Alliance. Her name is Sællennià and I must meet with her immediately."

"A Night Elf, you say?!" Now, the man was chortling. Mocking her. The mage was tempted to fill his veins with pure arcane until they exploded beneath his skin. "Enough! This is my last warning, Horde scum! Be off with you now, or we will--"

"S-sir," a feminine voice piped up from within the ranks.

The man snapped his head right around and bellowed for the one who had spoken to show themselves. Vermeadow, nearly about to kill him, glanced into the mob of soldiers and waited to see who it was that had cut him off mid-threat.

A woman with long, chestnut hair and big brown eyes shyly stepped forward and addressed the bellowing lunatic. 

"This elf speaks the truth," she said plainly. "Saellennia Silverspear is one of the highest-ranking field medics in the whole of the Alliance Force. Surely you've heard of her, Captain?" Her voice was sweet as honey but sliced with thorns, and Vermeadow could hardly express her gratitude towards her. She also could not deny the surge of pride she felt when she heard what her twin sister had accomplished...though it was quickly followed by envy and disgust at her own life. Her shoulders drooped slightly as the captain answered her.

"O-oh...quite. I suppose I have heard of her...," his voice had dropped to an embarrassed mumble. "Uh--very good, Klaussenn. Step back."

"Sir," the paladin replied, returning to her place with an obvious smile on her lips. Vermeadow took another glance at her and noticed her armor was also much different from the rest. It seemed heavy and sparkling, like that of a paladin’s. Unlike the other plain, gray metal which the rest of the soldiers bore, hers was golden and decorated beautifully with the Alliance crest. Why someone with such pristine armor would be standing behind in the ranks, and not up front where this idiot was, was beyond Vermeadow. 

Nevertheless, she directed her gaze back to the Captain, who seemed rather disgruntled after having been corrected--by an underling, no less. He’d taken several seconds to grumble and cough and adjust his armor before he addressed Vermeadow once more.

"Right, well. It, uh, just so happens that the Night Elf you're looking for is in Stormwind City."

Vermeadow narrowed her eyes at him. 

"But I would strongly advise against going in there," he went on, clearly agitated at the idea of any non-Alliance setting foot in his beloved city. The thought made Vermeadow want to retch. "I mean, you are of the Horde, after all, and--"

"I am not of the Horde," Vermeadow snapped at him. "I am a Quel'dorei--a Highborne. Haven’t you ever seen a High Elf before? I wouldn't be caught dead fighting on the side of the Horde. Or the Alliance, for that matter. I do not fight at all. I am simply a mage trying to make her way. Clearly, you pea-brained mortals have not done your homework if you can take one look at me and call me a Blood Elf. Disgraceful." She shook her head in disdain and resisted the urge to spit. She hated the act. "I'm going in there to find my sister. I'm going to deliver the package to her, and then I'm going to leave. There's no need for you to spill your mead over a Highborne in Stormwind for five minutes."

"You ain't going in there alone," the Captain informed her sharply, after having taken a nice, long look at her, just to make sure she wasn't kidding about the Highborne thing. "We will escort you in and out."

"That won't be necessary," replied the mage, who began to step to the side and head in the direction of the city.

"Don't you dare!" the captain screamed, unsheathing his sword in a blurry mess and waving it wildly in her direction. "I will slaughter you in the name of King Anduin! You will not intrude on my--"

"Sir," came the same voice as before, with a bit more confidence than last time.

Vermeadow’d had it with that man. She’d just lifted her hand to fire an arcane blast at him when the woman's voice stopped her dead in her tracks. She stared at her in awe, and a bit of confusion.

"Allow me to escort her," offered the woman. "I will guard her and make sure nothing happens to her, or the city." She saluted her captain, straightening tall and placing her hand over her heart. "I swear by the Light that I will defend both with my very life."

The mage slid her gaze towards the fool of a captain once more, gauging his response. He seemed to be fuming as his face was darkening to a rather unhealthy shade of red, and he slowly turned his head to look at the woman. His grip tightened around the hilt of the sword, and Vermeadow readied her spell in case he tried anything stupid. 

“...Very well, Klaussenn,” the captain muttered between his teeth. “Watch her like a hawk.” He then leaned in and whispered something unintelligible, to which the woman nodded and saluted him once more. With that, the man held out his arm to gesture for her to get going. She obliged, marching over to Vermedow with a kind smile on her face.

“Shall we be off, then?” she questioned the mage, peering down at her curiously. Her eyes wandered over to the infant in her arms, and her face burst into a wide smile. “Ah, look at you!” she cooed at him, and Vermeadow felt her stomach churn. 

“Yes, let us go,” Vermeadow huffed as her son blinked up at the woman. She began stalking in what she thought was the direction of Stormwind, lifting her chin high in hopes of hiding the ever-growing fear in her core. She was no fool; she knew that it was not wise to enter the city in the manner she was planning to. She knew the hatred many of the Alliance held for the Horde, and realized that it was hard to distinguish which kind of elf she was upon first glance. She was terrified, though she would never admit it. Regardless, she had to do it. It was for the sake of her son...as well as her own peace of mind.

The woman had also followed her, armor clunking with every heavy step she took. Vermeadow had seen her up close and recognized her beauty--but also her strength. She couldn’t imagine having to carry the weight of such armor on top of her own...and to speak up in front of such an explosive man as her captain was truly admirable. Yes, Vermeadow had to admit she admired her...just a little. Not that she would ever admit that, either.

“I’m Krysanthemum, by the way.” The woman’s honey-sweet voice was right behind her as they walked, seeming to calm the mage’s nerves in spite of herself. “And what is your name, may I ask?”

“Vermeadow...it’s Vermeadow,” the mage replied after a moment. They were coming up on a tiny settlement, and even from where they were, Vermeadow could see many humans wandering about. Given how reactive humans are, she was absolutely dreading the inevitable encounter. She thought of how much easier it would have been without an escort...she could have just used her invisibility spell until she’d found her sister. Easy in, easy out. No conflicts in between. But of course, it was just her luck that she’d been stuck with an Alliance escort. In the end, Vermeadow supposed it was to be expected.

“Nice to meet you,” Krysanthemum was saying, a smile in her voice. “I wanted to apologize for Captain Cooke...he can be a bit too gung-ho about everything sometimes...especially when it comes to defending his beloved city.” A small laugh left her, her tone rising in a sarcastic manner as she mentioned Stormwind. Vermeadow glanced at her from the side. “I knew you were a Highborne, and many others would recognize it, as well. Civilians, however…” she looked at the mage and shook her head, coming to a stop. They were still a good distance away from the settlement, so Vermeadow was hardly bothered by the pause. 

“I figured they wouldn’t let me in so easily,” Vermeadow admitted. “But...I didn’t really care in the end. This is important. If I had to kill a few loud-mouthed citizens on the way, then so be it.” She shrugged with hardly a care, simply stating the facts.

Krysanthemum, however, looked absolutely horrified. Her eyes had widened immensely, boring into her with similar intensity to that of an Inquisitor. She licked her lips as her face darkened with determination. She leaned in and gave the mage a good, hard stare for a few moments. “By the Light,” she swore, lowering her voice, “no one is losing their life today. And if they do, you will not like what I do next.” 

Vermeadow stared back at her silently, harboring no expression whatsoever. Inwardly, she could not deny how her admiration for her was growing. She was so strong. Kind, but strong. And not afraid to defend her own. Vermeadow, though her own beliefs and ideals didn’t necessarily fall in line with Krysanthemum’s, had to admit that it was a good way to live. However….

“If anyone tries to lay a hand on my son,” Vermeadow replied, her voice lowering to match the other’s, “I will not be merciful.” Her own face hardened, mirroring the other’s determination to protect those precious to them. 

Krysanthemum peeked down at the swaddled baby for just a moment before her gaze flickered back to the Mage. She gave a nod, seeming to understand, and reached into a small pack she carried around her waist. She extracted from it an unidentifiable piece of cloth, and offered it to her. “This is so that there are no misunderstandings.” 

Vermeadow looked down at it confusedly; almost disgustedly. She picked it up after a moment or two, unfurling it, to find it was a hood. The fabric was surprisingly soft, and of a rich blue color, not unlike the official navy blue of the Alliance. It was almost a slap in the face for the woman, who hated the Alliance, and also would not cover her face--her identity--just for the sake of a few ignorant citizens. 

“I cannot accept this,” she stated, thrusting it back at the human. “I refuse to accommodate those ignorant fools within the city walls...if anything, they should be educated. Why should I have to mask myself for their sakes? They should be informed, not sheltered. What are they, children?” There was such vitriol in her tone, it probably would have stung for anyone else. 

Not for Krysanthemum. She simply fired back, “Why is a Highborne--an elf, not of Alliance, and not a citizen of any Alliance territories, waltzing into the capital city and expecting those inside it to just let her? Have you not seen, not heard, the things those not of the Alliance have done to the Alliance? The Horde, especially. All the pain and loss that has been inflicted on the innocent civilians due to countless wars that never seem to end. Attacks and bombings, kidnappings, or simply cold-blooded murder. It has happened to many, indeed--even the Horde has suffered at the hands of the Alliance. But that does not erase the pain of those within Stormwind. Those who have been forever scarred by the Horde…,” she paused, having spoken so eloquently and passionately that her hands and her eyes had travelled about...but at last, she settled her gaze upon the one in front of her, offering her another intense stare. “...or anyone who looks like the Horde.” 

Vermeadow stood silently before her, having watched her as she monologued about pain and loss. As if Vermeadow knew nothing about it. Though, indeed, the human had a point. She did not move, however. The hand offering the mask back to its owner did not waver.

“I understand that you have your pride. You are a long-lived, very wise, and very noble elf. You have been on Azeroth for hundreds...maybe even thousands of human lifetimes longer than I. I am only 34 years old...to me, you have the knowledge of gods.” She conceded on this point, nodding in acknowledgement to Vermeadow, which the latter appreciated. “Regardless, you are not in your home; you are in someone else’s. Therefore, you must respect our culture and our wishes...and our pain.” 

Vermeadow frowned at this, her arm slowly lowering. Still, she remained silent.

“To that end,” Krysanthemum concluded, “I must ask that you put on this hood. For the sake of peace, and for your son’s sake, as well.” She nodded at the baby, and stared at the elf once more, waiting expectantly. 

The elf darkened her gaze, furious at having been proved wrong. She couldn’t find any reason to defy this human any longer...not a single rebuttal or retort that would collapse her fortified logic. And her son--how dare she use him against her, correct as she was. She peeked down at him to find that he was fast asleep once more. He looked so peaceful when he slept, Vermeadow noticed. It hurt her heart. She tore her gaze away then, dropping her shoulders in defeat. She huffed and straightened out the hood, pulling it over her head. It was loose, though it pulled at her ears, doing little to hide them. The piece of cloth on the bottom covered her mouth and nose after she tugged it up, and finally, all that showed was a strip of her forehead and her glimmering, arcane-soaked eyes, which she now directed at the human, rather crossly.

Krysanthemum smiled graciously and nodded. “Thank you. This will definitely smooth things over as we enter the city. Come along, then.” With that, she took off in the direction of the nearby settlement. 

Vermeadow followed her silently, placing a gentle hand on the baby’s back.

\---{end}---


End file.
